Therapy
by Rayniekinnz
Summary: 'He didn't have a particular destination – perhaps familiar grounds? – but he didn't feel like returning to the Ravenclaw dorms either. It was pretty miserable everywhere he went.' Round 5 Submission for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.


**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS MENTIONED HERE. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO J.K ROWLING.  
Submission for Round 5 of the '****_Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition_****'.  
Team: **Montrose Magpies  
**Position: **Chaser 2  
**Scene:** Christmas at Hogwarts.  
**Prompts Used:** [word] **2**. Tiptoe/ [word] **7**. Frostbite/ [word] **12**. Pristine

* * *

**THERAPY**

It was freezing in the Dungeons.

Laughing silently to himself, Dirk shook his head and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. He hadn't dressed for the occasion at all, wearing only his pyjamas and a pair of winter boots with a jumper and scarf thrown on top. He had forgotten his gloves in his trunk and didn't doubt he would probably get frostbite.

He heard a sudden squeak in the eerie hush and sped up, heart thumping wildly in his chest. It wasn't past curfew – at least, he didn't _think_ it was – but Filch was an unpleasant man and he didn't wish to be confronted.

He ducked around the next corner as another set of footsteps echoed through the hall, pressing his back against the wall and trying to keep as quiet as possible.

_Klop. Klop. Klop. Klop…_

Peeking around the corner he saw the outline of a boy walking away. A fourth-year Slytherin, he realised absently. He didn't know the boy's name, but they had sat across from each-other at meal-time and he was relatively friendly – meaning he said nothing and only glared at him a bit.

He waited for another few minutes before stepping back into the main passage and continuing on his way. He didn't have a particular destination – perhaps familiar grounds? – but he didn't feel like returning to the Ravenclaw dorms either. It was pretty miserable everywhere he went.

Vaguely, he wondered if that was maybe his fault.

"Lost, dearie?"

Dirk forced himself not to flinch, though he couldn't repress a little intake of breath. Looking to the side, he saw an elderly woman peering down at him from her portrait-frame.

"Er…not really, ma'am."

"It's a bit late to be taking a stroll, no?" she commented, suspicion sharpening her tone.

"I was just heading back to my common room," he lied, smiling tightly. "I was looking for my misplaced Potions text and hadn't realised the time."

"Oh," the lady said. "Well, you get to bed then. It's Christmas tomorrow."

_You say it like it's a good thing_, he thought bitterly, turning and walking away without a word. The lady made an annoyed sound, complaining loudly to her snoozing neighbour but he didn't look back.

It was Christmas Eve and he was doing what he always did – wandering aimlessly and convincing himself it wasn't _sulking_, he was just…contemplating life.

He supposed it could have been worse – probably _would_ have been worse at home – and that Hogwarts wasn't a bad place to celebrate, yet not enough sweets or concerned letters from his girlfriend could fill the void in his heart.

The one that should never have been there.

His parents had been understanding for the most part when he got his Letter, but there was no changing the fact that he was _different_ from them and his siblings. They tried and they accepted him as much as they could…it wasn't their fault he wanted unconditional love and not just when they couldn't see his wand.

When he was trying to be normal.

Christmas was supposed to be about food and presents and family, so why did it matter he could make a feather hover in mid-air or turn a tooth-pick into a needle?

Pausing at the next window, he leaned against the ledge and looked out at the pristine white snow blanketing the Quidditch Pitch. He didn't play – not for lack of trying – nevertheless, he had never seen anything like it and was the first one ready before his house played. He was always getting ribbed about it; his girlfriend – ironically on the team – loved to say how she'd be tossed away immediately if brooms were designed with a voice-box and semi-intelligent response options. He normally kept quiet, knowing any response he came up with would probably be considered rude. Tiptoeing around her for weeks afterwards wasn't his idea of fun – especially when she had access to bludgers.

Smiling faintly, he pressed his hand to the cool glass and pictured his gorgeous Clarissa standing out in the snow, waving excitedly and gesturing for him to come outside. They would have a snow-ball fight and make snowmen with the rest of their group; get hot chocolate from the kitchen and then cuddle in the common room before heading up to bed despite being too excited to sleep.

Waking up was always the best part – he'd try to burrow under the duvet, reluctant to get up and then _realising_ what day it was, he would practically dive off the bed and wake up the whole room, cooing over the pile of presents sitting on his trunk. His friends would all groan and grumble as they pulled clothes on over their pyjamas, smiling good-naturedly all the while.

They would take their presents and stumble down the stairs to the common room where the girls would be waiting for them, showered and dressed and huddled near the fire. Looking over, they would point to the pile of gifts on the floor; rolling their eyes and giggling at their counterparts frumpy rolled-out-of-bed appearances. Dirk would attempt to be funny – _attempt_ being the operative word – and most likely fall on his face, getting no help from his dorm-mates.

Clarissa would laugh too, but she'd also flop onto his lap on the floor and give him a tender kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Dirk."

Shaking his head, dislodging the fantasy, he turned away from the empty Pitch.

**End**


End file.
